


Goodnight My Angel, Time To Close Your Eyes.

by KHlove065



Category: Glee
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Husbands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHlove065/pseuds/KHlove065
Summary: It's been two years since their son was delivered stillborn.





	Goodnight My Angel, Time To Close Your Eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Billy Joel's song "Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)", and based on my experience witnessing the stillbirth of my cousin. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading <3

Blaine stares out the window, watching the way the trim grass ripples in the breeze, the setting sunlight filtering through the blades in long, soft rays.

He feels the mattress dip behind him, a gentle sniffle sounding on the quiet air as Kurt climbs onto the bed and crawls forward, wrapping his strong arms around Blaine’s waist from behind and burying his wet face in Blaine’s shoulder blade.

Blaine’s hands settle on top of Kurt’s where they’re resting on his stomach, entwining their warm fingers together. A thick tear falls down his cheek, slow and steady, dampening his face until it reaches his chin, dangling precariously before splashing onto his shirt.

Kurt breathes deeply behind him, heavy jagged inhales and shaky exhales that move against Blaine’s back, different from Blaine’s barely there breaths, small strained rises from where his chest is pulled tight, solid and heavy with ache.

It hits them randomly, usually in quiet, reflective moments when they’ve finally made it home from long days at work. 

Sometimes it’s arriving home to find Kurt a mess of sobs on the couch, sitting beside him and cradling his head with worn, soothing hands. Blaine doesn’t cry then. He doesn’t need to. Those moments are Kurt’s to grieve, Kurt’s to mourn, Kurt’s to tread through, and Blaine’s to support, Blaine’s to hold in the intimate, delicate grasp of empathy.

Sometimes it’s when he rises early in the morning, Kurt’s body motionless in slumber beside him. He places a loving kiss to his beautifully pale shoulder and stumbles to the kitchen for coffee, catching sight of the cracked door to the nursery, sky blue walls and petite shoes and shelves of brightly colored books, thin spines mismatched in length.

It’s there Kurt will find him when he wakes sometime later, huddled on the floor with his back pressed against the wide bars of the crib, a sweet smelling blanket grasped tightly in his hands, damp with his tears. His husband collects his broken pieces then, cracking the door wider and coming to kneel beside Blaine in his silky robe, taking him into his arms and kissing carefully around his hair.

Kurt doesn’t cry then, because those are Blaine’s moments to handle in his own way.

Most times they grieve together, matching red rimmed eyes and faces contorted with pain, comforting hands and vulnerable kisses as they spread the burden between them. Tonight is one of those times.

It’s been two years since their son was delivered stillborn, and though the pain has softened from it’s iron grip as time has patiently begun to heal them, the prevalence of their loss still weighs profoundly on their hearts.

Blaine can recount every event of that morning with resolute clarity, each individual second passing slowly like a captured snapshot. The silence of Andrew’s deliverance penetrates his being deeply in a way he knows will shape him for the rest of his life.

Time seemed to freeze that morning, morphing into a bubble of grieving serenity that shocked them into a heart aching reverence as they held their child for a length of time Blaine couldn’t define in minutes or hours, just moments.

Moments of bathing him slowly with silent, trembling hands, dressing him carefully as tears spilled from eyes that could no longer contain them, watching Kurt cradle the small bundle of blanket that their child laid to rest in.

Blaine held him too, a smile on his face despite the tears that never ceased to slow, gazing down at their beautiful boy with groggy eyes and a sore, red tipped nose.

They weighed him. They named him. They took turns singing to him. They sat with Rachel as she wept, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. They held him together. They spent the entirety of the day in the universe of their hospital room, the one place their small family existed wholly in.

They cherished every moment with anguished hearts, boundless love overpowering grief for those precious hours where they experienced a lifetime span of parenting moments in a compiled rush.

They left the hospital in a body numbing trance that took weeks to begin to wear off, that still holds them captive in some capacity today, slowly releasing them in infinitesimal increments. Words failed them, swallowed by their lamenting hearts, trapped by unbearable lumps in their throats.

They didn’t sleep that night, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms in suffocating silence, clinging, afraid to let go for fear of drifting off and withering away.

They don’t cry everyday. The wave of emotion comes and goes, a tender lapping current on some days and a soul consuming tsunami on others.

Many days they smile and laugh, honoring their son with a joyous life full of compassion and love and everything they wished their baby boy to be raised and nurtured in.

Kurt’s arms tighten around his waist, his soft lips pressing lightly to the back of Blaine’s neck.

“I love you,” he whispers. Blaine’s heart pounds steadily, warming with love, softening with intimate tenderness, expanding in pain and deep devotion simultaneously.

“I love you, too,” Blaine replies, raising Kurt’s hand where it’s clasped with his and kissing the shiny, infinite band of his wedding ring.

They’ve learned there’s no timetable for healing as they’ve slowly become enduringly acquainted with the painstaking process. Some days they feel leaps and bounds ahead in progress, and other days the very foundation of their lives seems to come crashing down around them in tormenting flames.

But they know two things without fail, so deeply and unerringly true they would sacrifice their lives before they would deny them. 

Two things that rebuild them and strengthen them and help them arrive at the glorious, shining day of the birth of their twin daughters, angelic beacons straight from heaven breathing peacefully in their arms:

1.Their love for each other will prevail through anything.

2\. In every preordained construct of every vast universe, true as the stars themselves, the Anderson-Hummel family consists of five beautifully special individuals and will into the eternities.


End file.
